


Two Times Richard Castle Got Into a Fight (and Two Times He Didn't)

by headrush100



Category: Castle
Genre: Drama, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 08:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headrush100/pseuds/headrush100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four pivotal moments in Richard Castle's life. Spoilers up through early season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Punch

**1\. Punch. (Season 3, ‘Knockdown’)**  
The first time Richard Castle punches someone, he’s in the ninth grade, desperately homesick, and Eric Cameron had caught him crying in his bunk. That was mortifying enough. But when Eric announces to the rest of the dorm that Ricky’s a sissy bastard, it hits not just one nerve, but two.

Technically, he _is_ a bastard. He’s okay with that, but less so with the whole of Edgewyck Academy knowing it. And technically, he supposes, he _does_ appear to be a sissy. He has no siblings to practice his fighting skills on, and few friends to roughhouse with, thanks to spending most of his pre-Edgewyck life backstage, playing poker with his mother’s co-stars and charming the makeup ladies.

It’s a lucky punch, catching Eric on the chin and knocking him on his ass. Castle can’t quite believe it, and knows he’d better not waste the moment. “It’s _Rick_ , not Ricky,” he says in as menacing a voice as he can muster, while Eric stares up at him, stunned. He’s careful not to ruin the effect, and waits until he’s out of the dorm before hissing in pain and jamming his smarting hand into his armpit. He had actually _hit_ someone, just like in the movies, and it had _worked!_ He was a man now.

One thing Castle can’t stand is cruelty. He’d sat through Beckett’s interrogation of Vulcan Simmons in near silence, though he can _feel_ how rattled she is, has seen how quickly she’s lost the upper hand, knows only too well what it costs her just to ask the questions, let alone withstand Simmons’ responses. 

A flash of shark-white teeth. “He’s sweet on you. Makes him brave.”

Heat rushes to his face, even as he marvels at the accuracy with which Simmons has read them and twisted that knowledge to his use. He can only imagine how unsettling this thought may be to Beckett later on, but digs at their relationship are taking a distant second or third right now.

He longs to be able to reach over and touch her; to give her some signal that he _knows_ , he _understands_ , and he’s right there in it with her. He wishes she knew he’d do his damndest to make it better if only she’d let him. That it killed him to sit there letting Simmons twist the knife, and not say a word for fear of jeopardising the arrest. That he yearns to wipe that shit-eating grin off Simmons’s face. 

She had left – fled? – the interrogation room, and Castle is on on his way out when Simmons pushes one time too many. 

“Oh, you want some too? Come on.”

This time, his punch owes less to luck, more to rage-driven speed and the element of surprise. He feels Simmons’ teeth give way under his knuckles, and a deeply satisfying spray of blood spatters the bastard’s light-colored shirt and jacket. As he’s manhandled out the door, he sees something in Simmons’ expression that wasn’t there before, and he _likes_ it.


	2. Words

**2\. Words. (Season 3, ‘Knockout’)**  
He drag-carries Beckett back to the car and traps her between himself and the vehicle. There’s no chance of her getting away, but the distance between them is vast, now. In keeping her from a suicidal bid to save Montgomery and maybe get the closure she desperately needs, he’s sealed his fate. She’ll hate him for this, even more than she already hates him for speaking those unbearably painful truths.

Muffling her screams, hating himself, hating _everything_ about this, he hears everything she’s been keeping in for God only knows how long. He risks a glance back at the hangar. They’re going to hear, going to come out here and get them next. He clamps down harder as she writhes under him. Winces as she winces. Apologises, shushes, over and over. He can’t do much, but he can save her life tonight. This will probably be the last time he has a chance to keep her safe, and it was Montgomery’s last request of him, so Goddammit, he’s going to do it. 

Frustration, grief, and fury has finally snapped her precious self control, and he’s not far behind. What use are words, what could he possibly say that will hold her together, hold _them_ together, now? 

Fists batter his chest, sharp knees jam up between his legs, each blow weaker than the last. That scares him more than anything. 

_”Shh. Shh. Shhhh.......”_ He strokes her hair, moves with her as she begins a downward slide, but keeps them from collapsing completely. Any moment, those men might appear. He’s losing her; losing himself in her anguish, in his part in it.

The words come to him then; as much a shock to him as to her, but when he speaks them, she finally stops fighting and really _looks_ at him. Her fists slowly unclench, and she cups his face in her fluttering hands. He forgets to breathe, because what he finally sees in her eyes is the _real_ Kate Beckett, and everything she’s yearning for. 

They aren’t lost after all. Far from it.


	3. Bulletproof

**3\. Bulletproof. (Season 1)**  
She’d told him very clearly to stay in the car. The first time he’d disobeyed, It had ended up being a good thing, and he’d even helped catch the bad guy. He knew, or okay, he _hoped_ , that Beckett’s habitual mask of irritation whenever he was around was just overcompensation, and she didn’t actually find him _that_ annoying. Maybe was even warming to him a little. 

So when Beckett, Ryan, and Esposito are off chasing after a suspect inside the apartment building, he decides to be their backup. He’d heard Ryan say that the building had a rear exit that they couldn’t cover, so he jogs down the alley in that direction. 

Rounding the far corner, he almost literally runs into a wild-eyed young man. The guy falls back a few steps, bringing up his gun.

Castle stares at him, transfixed. There’s no time to plead before the gun goes off. He doesn’t know which is more startling, the deafening noise, or the impact that sends him staggering backwards. It was as though a hitter for the Yankees had smashed one right in his chest. He collapses to his hands and knees, trying to draw a breath. In his peripheral vision, he sees the shooter take off. Thank God for that.

He was alive. The relief, shock, and amazement at that fact overrode everything else. But only for a moment. What if he’d been killed? Alexis.... A sharp breath brings a stab of pain, which brings another sharp breath, and another stab of pain. He remains motionless, trying to breathe shallowly and calm himself, until it recedes. 

He waits as long as he dares before looking to see what the damage is, terrified at what he might find, but if he’s about to bleed out, better to see it now, while he has strength to yell for help. He looks down and stares at the ragged hole in the bulletproof vest, big enough to stick a finger in. With shaking hands, he undoes the Velcro straps securing the vest; the vest that numerous people had mocked him for buying.

He shucks the vest off, glances down quickly before looking away, then risks a longer look. He could cry when there’s no blood in sight, but something _is_ wrong. Gingerly, he presses a spot below his heart, and yeah, that hurts like.... He hears feet pounding the pavement in the alley nearby.

"Where’s Castle? Dammit, I _told_ him to stay here!”

Beckett. This is exactly why she had told him to stay in the car. If she found out that not only had he disobeyed her, but had got himself shot as well, she might well consider him a liability she couldn’t afford anymore. He has to pretend nothing happened. Getting to his feet is a challenge, but he makes it, and tries to round the corner as nonchalantly as possible while praying his legs don’t give out on him. Beckett’s face is like thunder.

“Castle! Where the hell have you been? We heard a shot, we thought.....”

“I saw him; he took off down there.” He points, helpfully.

“I know. We caught him.” She eyeballs him. “Are you all right? You look... funny.”

He tries to arrange his expression to look less pained, more thoughtful. “Yes, fine. I think I might call it a day when we get back to the precinct, though. I need to see Alexis right away.” He really, really needs to hug her for a long time.

She looks at him for a beat, then nods and turns back to Esposito and Ryan. He breathes a sigh of relief, and winces.

The next morning, Beckett calls him into the morgue, where his coffee is the hottest thing in the room, next to the detective. 

When they’re done talking about the forensic evidence, Beckett strides off down the hall, but Lanie hisses to him. “Hey! You okay?”

He considers the truth – the superheated black bruise over a lump the size of half a tennis ball, which kept him awake all night and alarmed him in the shower this morning; versus the fiction that he’s fine, and not in any way a liability to Beckett or the precinct.

“Castle. What happened yesterday? Beckett said you were totally spaced out the whole way back from the crime scene.” She tilts her head. “Not to mention the fact that you’re walking like my granddaddy – no, make that great-granddaddy – and you have a weird expression on your face.”

“Lanie...”

She points to the floor in front of her. “Get in here.”

He obeys.

She looks him up and down. “Now. What’s happened to you?”

He shuffles his feet and throws a glance to the doorway. “You won’t tell Beckett?”

Lanie’s eyebrows go up. “Well, I don’t know, Castle. Is this in a personal capacity or a professional capacity?”

He considers. “Um, both.”

She crosses her arms. “Go on.”

He tells her. When he gets to the part about being shot, Lanie looks suitably horrified.

“You were shot at point blank range? What with?”

“I don’t know! A _gun!_ ” He has no difficulty visualising the big black barrel aimed right at him; he’s been picturing it constantly. “A big one!”

She lets out a low whistle. “Castle....”

“I know, right? But Lanie, the thing is, nobody can know about this. They’ll throw me out of here before you can say _risk assessment_ , let alone _insurance premiums_ or _idiot civilian_. I won’t be able to, to.... help.... Beckett anymore.”

“Sure, I know, all you wanna do is _help_ Beckett,” she says, meaningfully, “but you’re not gonna do that by ignoring what she tells you to do for your own safety, are you? How do you think she’d feel if you went and got yourself killed on her watch?”

He feels about five years old. “I just wanted to be useful.”

“You wanted to impress somebody,” she says.

“No.” _Yes._

“Mmm-hmm. Take your shirt off.”

“What, no dinner first?” Off her look, he unbuttons his shirt and lifts up his undershirt. He cranes to see what it looks like now, and wishes he hadn’t.

Lanie is gentler now, in full professional mode. “You having any trouble breathing?”

“No. It just hurts when I do.”

“Okay. Hop up on that table there, and we’ll take an x-ray.”

He looks over at the stainless steel table, not keen even to touch it, let alone lie on it. But not wanting to appear a complete wimp, he manoeuvres himself up onto it, and slowly, slowly, slowly, because it is _damn_ painful, he eases himself down onto the paper sheet Lanie had put on there.

“Sorry, my usual customers don’t mind the lack of padding.” 

Lanie comes over and prods all around, and asks him some excruciatingly personal questions. He’s not sure he can ever face her again after this. He tries to read her expression. “Do you think I’m bleeding inside?” A horrible image of Meredith’s new toyboy husband giving Alexis away at her wedding fills his mind.

She smiles reassuringly. “I don’t think so. If you’d been haemorrhaging internally since yesterday, you’d be on this table but not asking any questions.”

He lets that sink in while she arranges the x-ray machine and lays a lead cover over him.

The door opens, and Beckett pops her head in. “Lanie, have you seen Castle? He was right behind....” she trails off as she sees him on the slab. “What the hell? Castle, is this some kind of weird method writing thing?

Oh, God. He stares fixedly at the ceiling. “Yes, Beckett. I’m trying to get the victim’s perspective.”

Lanie stands in the doorway next to Beckett, and turns off the main light. “Both of you, be quiet. Okay, Castle. Keep very still. Try to take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds. Three, two, one.... hold.”

He does, and it hurts, and Beckett can clearly see it on his face, because she is all seriousness now. Her mouth opens, and Lanie drags her off into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

Castle remains motionless on the table, hoping this is the last time he’s on it.

A few minutes later, Lanie and Beckett come back in. Beckett looks a little calmer. They both come over to the table, and Beckett makes a revolted-but-sympathetic face when she gets a close up of the increasingly spectacular-looking damage to his chest.

Getting shot is totally worth it when Beckett’s fingers ghost over the injury. He doesn’t risk looking at Lanie.

“It was only a couple of inches from your heart,” says Beckett. "Body armor or no, if your chest gets compressed 42 centimeters over the heart, you’re not likely to survive, to say nothing of the force the body has to absorb in such a concentrated area. You were _damn_ lucky.” She turns to Lanie. “Can we get a photo of this, please?”

“Not to mention the fact that he could have just gone and shot you in the head,” adds Lanie, giving his injury its close-up for the evidence file.

“Okay, _okay_ , I get it! I _know_ how lucky I am.” He slowly, slowly, slowly starts to sit up. Lanie supports him on one side, Beckett on the other, until he’s upright. 

Lanie pats him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go develop the chest film. Don’t go anywhere till I get back.”

And he is left alone with his worst nightmare: Beckett, standing over him like the angel of death.

“I’m sorry,” he says, intensely focused on buttoning his shirt. “I just wanted to help back you up.”

“You should’ve told me about this yesterday, Castle. We’ll be adding attempted murder to the guy’s charges.”

He nods.

She sighs. “But it’s not just that. Do you think I don’t care what happens to you?”

He has no answer for this that won’t lead to waters he has no idea how to negotiate at the best of times, let alone when he’s still freaked out from a near death experience and sitting on a steel table in a morgue. 

Beckett forges ahead. “Well, I _do_. I kinda like having you around. So next time, when I tell you something for your own safety, you _do what I say_ , okay? This isn’t a game.”

“Do you think I don’t _know_ that?” he snaps. “I’ve thought of nothing else since it happened! If I’d been killed yesterday, what would that have done to Alexis? To my mother? Not to mention the fact that, hey, _I don’t want to die!_ Don’t patronize me, Beckett, I’m fully aware of the stupidity of my behavior.”

“Okay.” She says after a while, with – is that a cautious smile? – “Will you let me buy you a cup of coffee? I think both of us could use some soothing.”

He smiles and nods. Lanie comes back in and confirms it is a hairline fracture. He’s not sorry when she demands he bare his chest again so that she can put some protective padding over it, asking Kate to hold it in place while she tapes it down. He wonders if Lanie is just being nice to him. For a moment, he’s blissfully happy. But he’s not going to get shot ever again.


	4. Peace

**4\. Peace. (Early season 4)**  
When he comes back from lunch, Ryan and Esposito are lurking in the hallway, rubbernecking across the bullpen to Iron Gates’ office. Something juicy is going down. He stops to companionably rubberneck alongside them.

“Oh, this is bad,” Esposito says quietly. 

Suddenly Beckett is in view. He can’t make out exactly what she’s saying, but by her rigid posture and the way she’s waving her arms around, he can tell it’s loud and it’s out of line. And here’s Gates just waiting for Beckett to give her a reason.

“How long has she been in there?” he murmurs.

Ryan’s brow furrows even deeper. “About fifteen minutes.”

“I’m going to extract her,” he says. “Cover me, boys, I’m goin’ in.”

“Be careful!” Ryan squeaks.

He’s across the bullpen in less time than it takes to think of what the hell he’s going to say when he gets in there. Best to lead with a smile, not that Gates will appreciate it.

He turns the doorknob and faces two extremely angry women. Nothing new there. He smiles. “Sorry to interrupt. Beckett, there’s an extremely urgent phone call for you. They’ve found a new lead, but it won’t stay hot for long.” Well, it was the best he could do. “I _really_ think you should take it,” he adds, for good measure.

Beckett glowers at Gates, about a half step from a disciplinary.

“Go on!” says Gates, dismissing her with an abrupt flick of the hand. “We’ll finish this later.”

“Yes, sir,” Beckett grinds out. She almost mows him down, she’s heading for the fortress of her desk so fast, but he grasps her elbow as firmly as he dares and steers her into the hallway. He’s only grateful not to get punched for diverting her from her set course of action.

“Castle, what is this? What’s the new lead?”

He shakes his head, keeps her moving. “Have you had lunch?”

“Food is the last thing I need right now. I need to break this case. I’m gonna show her – ” 

He hits the elevator call button. “What you _need_ is some air.” 

“I don’t have time.”

“It’s your lunch break. You have an hour.”

“I don’t want to go out, I have work to do.”

But the elevator door has already closed, and they’re on their way down to street level. Neither speak. The elevator door opens, and she attempts to stay in and hit the button to go back up, but he’s ready for it and strong-arms her out into the sunshine in as un-antagonizing a way possible. Under her thin sweater he can feel her muscles are thrumming with tension.

“Did I ever tell you about the time my mother made me help her run lines for a seduction scene she was doing on Temptation Lane?”

She cracks the tiniest of smiles. 

Encouraged, he persists. “Did I mention I was eight at the time?”

“Castle.”

“ _How_ I wish I was kidding.” 

“Where are we going?”

“Just to the park.”

They walk the couple of blocks in silence. He stops briefly to buy a bottle of iced tea and a sandwich from a vendor.

She looks confused. “I thought you’d had your lunch.”

“I have,” he says lightly. She doesn’t follow it up, and he doesn’t press it. Yet. 

They cross the intersection and enter the overgrown community park. After they’ve gone a little way in, Beckett sits down on a rock surrounded by a little copse of trees. She’s still moving cautiously, still conscious of the pull of the scar tissue in her side. He sits close, but not too close, and puts the iced tea and sandwich on the rock between them. “Those are for you, if you want,” he says. 

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ll have them later.”

He tries not to worry. The light and shade are dappled here, the rustle of leaves in the breeze louder than the sounds of the city. Suddenly he’s aware of birdsong, and the scent of honeysuckle.

“You could close your eyes and pretend to be in a magic forest,” he remarks. She could really use some magic. So could he, come to that.

She nods.

“Do you wish you were somewhere else, Beckett?” he asks, gently.

Another nod.

Another question comes to mind, and he steels himself. “Do you wish you were _with_ someone else?”

She shakes her head and smiles. “No.” Her eyes are brimming. 

“Is there anything I can do to help you right now, Beckett?”

After what seems an interminably long pause, she nods, and gets to her feet. “Do you think you could just....” She looks vulnerable, maybe a little embarrassed.

It takes him a beat to process this. He _thinks_ he knows what she’s asking for, and prays he’s not completely wrong, because if he is, she will _freak. out._ He stands, opens his arms, and smiles encouragingly. She reaches for him, and he pulls her in. Her arms slide under his jacket, round his waist, and hang on. Thank God, he’s done the right thing. She’s shaking. He rests his chin on top of her head, and rocks them back and forth ever so slightly. He rubs her back, and murmurs what he hopes are soothing noises. It takes a long time for her to relax, but the only surprise is that she lets go _at all_. 

It’s a good start.

End.


End file.
